


life through rose tinted glasses

by fruectose



Series: tumblr prompts [3]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruectose/pseuds/fruectose
Summary: Written for Tumblr prompt: 'So why did I have to hit that guy!'TW: Abuse (mentioned and implied), and violence (mentioned)Stay safe!!
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Series: tumblr prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756708
Comments: 9
Kudos: 147





	life through rose tinted glasses

New York was uncharacteristically gloomy. Grey clouds took over the entirety of the blue skies and the sun was nowhere to be seen. Occasional drops of water would fall over the tourists- enough that they could complain about their holiday being ruined but not so strong as to herd them into the lower decks of their City Sightseeing tour buses. New York natives, like they felt for so many other things in life, did not care. The drizzle was but another hurdle they shook their fists at for what little free time they had before the bustle of the city carried them forward.

One such New Yorker was having a particularly rough time.

He was removed from the crowds, unable to let the Manhattan rush distract him from the thoughts swimming in his head. He stood instead almost alone in a large abandoned cemetery, all with plain, uniform gravestones and cold winds- as if nobody had bothered to visit any of the deceased. It made sense. This was where the loners went. Ones who left with nobody’s love, ones who never managed to build something worth being remembered for. All they got was this- a single grey stone with their names, haphazardly researched life years and, if they were really lucky, a little tag expressing the deepest sympathies to those they left behind.

An outsider would see a man in his late twenties standing over one unremarkable grave- nothing to tell it apart from the rest of them. He wore a black coat with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets, and a hood that hid most of his face. Nobody would think much of it, just a man possibly coming to terms with the passing of someone he knew. It’s a good thing, too, that he didn’t attract the attention of passersby- had they approached him and looked under the hood, they’d see him. A handsome angular face with soft green eyes- marred by a split lip, a black eye and a purple bruise forming along his jaw to match the bandaged, bloody knuckles he’d tucked safely out of sight.

Percy Jackson balled his fists up and then released them- once, twice, three times.

He took deep, steadying breaths. This wasn’t supposed to be easy. He’d known that going in. For a long while, he’d dreamed of what he might say, what he might do, and now, years later, here he was- mentally prepared to face all the emotions, all the anger and pain- only to find that he felt nothing. His mind and heart were both drawing a huge blank as to how to continue.

“I’m only here because my wife thinks this will be good for me.” He told the gravestone. It gave him no sign of having heard or understood him.

  
Good, Percy thought. The first words were out. That was always the hardest part- with college essays and facing your biggest nightmares. He bounced on his feet slightly and swallowed thickly.

“She’s a good one.” He said. He tried to focus on a memory of his wife. Her smile and her hands in his. How she’d roll her eyes and tell him he was thinking too hard if she were beside him right now. The tension in his shoulders began to relax and his fists slowly started to unfurl. “The best there is, actually. I, uh… I always wonder how a woman like her could have wanted a man like me.”

It slowly got easier to talk to a chunk of granite. “I guess we don’t get to choose who we love, right? She loves me. My _mom_ loves me. My mom-” Percy’s voice broke at the thought of his mother. Why did the best people live the most miserable lives? “She deserves the world. She could have had it. The life of a goddess. Eternal. Powerful. Queen to one of the most powerful deities in existence.” Percy said. His voice got a little thick. “She chose me.”

He took a deep breath.

“And for that, she had to choose you.”

The words _Here lies_ _Gabriel Ugliano_ stare back at him. Quiet, unwavering and stony- very much like the man himself liked to watch Percy, if at all. But Percy wasn’t ten years old anymore. He wasn’t scared anymore.

“Nobody should have to choose you.” Percy told him. He tried to picture Gabe sitting in front of him, hunched over his poker game and enveloped in the smell of cigarette smoke and stale beer. It felt so real, he could almost hear him say, _what do you want, punk_?

“No. You should have lived your miserable life alone. Died alone. I hope you hear me. I hope you hear me from the Fields of Punishment.” He said. “I hope you’re enduring a truly horrible torture.”

Percy could envision at least a thousand terrible things he could justify wanting to happen to Smelly Gabe. He wished he could be there. Percy would have taken pleasure in hearing Gabe’s agonized screams. He would have paid to watch Gabe plead, _beg_ \- for the pain to stop and never get any release. He deserved so much worse.

“I wouldn’t dare credit you for creating any part of the man I’ve become.” Percy told him. Tombstone-turned-Gabe took a quiet puff of his cigarette. “You were a monster. I’m glad you’re dead. I hope they’re showing you Medusa’s face down there. I hope you look at her face and feel the kind of hopeless panic that makes your chest tight and your heart stop beating. I hope they make you feel what you did to me.”

Percy knew his voice was getting louder, angrier, but he couldn’t stop it. Annabeth was right- there were far too many things he hadn’t been able to say to Gabe.

“You were a sick man.” Percy said, taking a shaky breath. He wouldn’t cause a scene. Especially not at a deserted graveyard. Percy deliberated what to say. He wanted to get angrier, angrier, angrier. He wanted to feel the same white-hot fury he’d felt yesterday. But it was today now. And Gabe was dead. And all Percy truly felt—

_Scared_. Not that Gabe would hurt him or his mom- but that he’d already made his mark. That the damage had already been done. That Percy was stuck with the scars.

“And you were my _stepfather_.” Percy had never acknowledged that before. He couldn’t. It had been fifteen years since Gabe died, and the words still sent a shiver down his spine. “What chance did I have? _You_ were my stepfather.”

The Gabe of his mind put down a couple of his chips and took a long drag of his cigarette. He was still playing. It was Percy’s move.

“I’m angry.” Percy admitted quietly. “I’m angry. All the time.”

“I’m nothing like you. I’m not angry like you. But I’ve been angry since I met you.” Percy told him. “That was the beginning. I was angry at the way you treated me and Mom. I wanted you dead. I was six years old. No child should feel that kind of anger.”

“No child should feel that kind of pain. But that didn’t stop you, did it? I’ve been angry at the world ever since. I just got a little angrier with every time I was wronged. But it began with you. Why did my mom choose to be with you when we could have been safe with Poseidon? You aren’t worth the dirt on her shoe and she _married_ you.”

“I was angry when I realized she was doing it for me. Letting you hit her, coddling you. She did it for me. And what was the pay-off?” Percy asked him. “Nothing! People think that they’ll be rewarded for suffering. My mom suffered. For _years_ , with a scumbag piece of shit. Fuck, _I_ suffered. I didn’t get anything when you died. I didn’t achieve nirvana. I just… had to continue to work at life. And it sucked. And the more it sucked, the angrier I got, and now I realize that it began with _you_.”

“I want terrible things to happen to you in the Underworld. Graphic, horrific, unspeakable things. In fact, I wish I could be the one torturing you. Your name alone makes me want to fight a dozen monsters and kill them with my bare hands. I can’t let go of the resentment I feel for you. It’s been fifteen years since you died, and I can’t help but feel you still hold some power over me. You know what that does? It makes me _livid_.”

“If there’s one reason you should be alive, it’s so I could beat you to pulp for hours before you beg me to kill you.” Percy continued. His heart felt so tired. “I hate that about myself. I wish I could let it go. Let _you_ go. Never think of you again. But for some fucking reason… you left me with all this anger and no idea where to put it. I want to blame you for what happened, but now… I don’t know.”

Percy sighed. There was nothing left to say. He couldn’t blame Gabe for The Incident. That was all Percy. Annabeth had said it might help him, and for a moment it felt like getting some of his more violent thoughts off his chest was calming him down, but- when it came down to it, it was Percy’s fist that landed the first blow. Not Gabe, controlling him like a puppet from the heavens. That was all Percy.

Maybe Gabe had left some bitterness. Maybe Percy’s anger stemmed from his nightmare of an ex-stepfather. But it wasn’t his fault Percy nearly killed a man. Gabe, as much as Percy was aware, had committed several heinous crimes, oftentimes against his own wife and stepson- but had never gone so far as murder. Percy, on the other hand… had toed the line.

Imaginary Gabe pushed all his chips forward. He was going all in. It was only fair that Percy finished what he came for.

“There was a little… incident. Yesterday.” Percy pulled down his hood to show off his scrapes. He didn’t want to talk about it so he tried to picture it, communicate it telepathically. It might sound insane to you, but Percy had just created an abuser out of a slab of rock so… crazier things have happened, right?

Yesterday was meant to be a fun day. He’d picked Annabeth up from work and they were going to take a walk in the park before grabbing dinner and Percy remembered feeling very at peace with himself. Annabeth was talking about Carla, who had just given birth and was choosing _not_ to breastfeed, which was obviously something Percy absolutely had to know. In that moment, Percy could have closed his eyes and still described to perfection what she’d looked like. He was walking down the street, holding his wife’s hand and feeling very much in love with her.

He’d opened his mouth to ask what her plans for their baby was when movement caught his eye. The man in the alleyway wore a dirty red beanie over his fat, bald head and had a kid by the scruff of his neck and that was mostly everything Percy could really make sense of in that moment. There were other things that his subconscious was picking up on- the scrawny boy struggling against the big burly guy, the loud stream of cuss words they were exchanging, the kid biting and screaming and fighting for all his small body was worth. His blood went cold and he stopped walking.

“Percy? Are you okay?” Annabeth had asked him. He couldn’t tear his eyes off of the scene in the alleyway. None of Manhattan seemed to even notice. Even Annabeth hadn’t noticed. He only looked away when he realized she’d cupped his face in her hands and was all but forcing him to meet her eye. She searched his face once before worrying her lip. “What’s going on? Where’d you go?”

For half a second, Percy allowed himself to relax. Maybe he was imagining it. No way would people be oblivious to a child being forcefully taken-

A cry rang out and Percy had already taken off. He could hear his pregnant wife struggling to keep up. She was seven months along and wasn’t half as fast as she used to be.

“Percy, wait-!”

“Hey!” Percy reached the guy and the kid within seconds and wanted to hit himself. _Of course_ he hadn’t been imagining it. People of New York just _didn’t care_. Percy knew that first hand. How many times had he kicked and struggled with Gabe and his ugly goons, only to receive no external help at all? He’d be damned if he let the little boy get hurt.

The burly man looked over his shoulder and grunted. “Back off, asshole. This is family business.”

“Let the boy go.” Percy told him. The guy dropped the boy and turned his full attention onto Percy. He stepped forward until his nose was centimeters from Percy’s.

“ _The boy_ ’s my son, okay? So run along and play superhero with someone else, Batman.”

“You’re not hurting him.” Percy said. Big Ugly narrowed his eyes.

“We’ve got a score to settle. Stupid fuck’s been skimming off the top of my commission.” He stepped even closer until Percy was breathing his heavily weed infused breath almost exclusively. “Unless you want to settle the difference, I’d suggest you take your pretty girl and move along.” He nodded to Annabeth, who’d miraculously made it over. Her cheeks were bright pink and she was out of breath.

“I told you, Brent, I’ve not got your money! I gave you-!” The little kid started. He glared at his father and sounded angry, but Percy knew that face, that tone- almost too well. He was scared. He looked over his shoulder and met Annabeth’s gaze and an understanding passed through them. Annabeth started inching towards the wall.

“Shut up, you little thief!” Brent bellowed, whirling onto him. “Either you pay me back or I’ll _kill_ you. Is that clear?”

“Don’t talk to him that way, man.” Percy said, reaching over and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Or we’re going to have a problem.”

“I told you to get lost. Or your pregnant girlfriend’s going to be crying in a hospital ward next month birthing a child without a father.” Big Ugly sneered. He’d turned back to his son and raised his fist-

And that was the last thing Percy really remembered. He’d seen red and not much else. Somewhere, he’d been conscious of the fact that Annabeth had snuck the little boy out of harm’s way, and maybe some part of him had even realized that the man under him was not, in fact, Gabe- even if he was just as despicable. But none of that really mattered. Percy hadn’t been in control of a single muscle in his body, didn’t even know if he was punching or kicking, barely felt the blows Big Brent managed to land. All Percy knew was rage. Pure, unadulterated hatred.

“When I came back to my senses, Annabeth was in tears, begging me to stop. She had a cut over her cheek. I hadn’t realized she’d got caught in between us. Brent was… bloody. Unconscious. Mostly bloody. Barely breathing. We had to call an ambulance and take the kid to safety. Annabeth spoke to him a bit. His name is Peter and he likes painting. She’s ready talking about fostering, maybe even adoption. He hasn’t got a mother and his father ought to be lying here beside you.” Percy said the last part out loud.

“And you know what the worst part is?” He asked with a dry laugh. “I can’t talk to Annabeth about this anger. I can’t even talk to Mom. The only person, ironically, in this entire world I feel okay talking about it… is _you_. Scum of the earth, filthy alkie trash.”

Percy didn’t know when the tears had started to form but he was kind of surprised when his mouth tasted salty. He wiped at his face.

“Why am I like this?” He asked the stone desperately. His imaginary Gabe faded away. He was alone. “Why did I have to hit that guy? Wh-why am I so angry?”

Percy stood there for a long time in silence, alone, as his thoughts tore at his sanity until he sunk to his knees. He pulled at his hair and prayed for some relief from all the agony he’s carried. He was so tired, so tired.

After some time, he heard footsteps and looked over his shoulder. Annabeth, who’d promised to wait in the car, had decided to join him. When she noticed the tears on his face, she gave him a small, sad smile. Her cut from the previous day shone a bright red against her pale skin. She joined him without question and slipped her hand into his and sat down on Gabe’s grave beside him.

They sat there together until Percy’s brain became too tired, too heavy to torment him. Even with the throbbing headache, his body felt more at ease as Annabeth rested her head on his shoulder.

“Do you think I could say something?” She asked softly.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t care.” She told him. “About Gabe. I… if there’s a part of you that’s defined by your time with him… I love that part of you.”

“You’re only saying that because you didn’t know him.”

“No. I didn’t. But I know _you_.” Annabeth told him gently. “Fine. I didn’t know you were capable of so much violence.” She said when Percy opened his mouth to argue. “But I know you’re capable of more love, more forgiveness and kindness than anybody I’ve ever met. I know you’re always in pain and don’t let yourself be happy because somewhere you refuse to believe it’s what you deserve. I know that you are _too_ _good_ a man to be carrying the burdens you do.”

“Annabeth,-”

“Let me finish.” She said softly. “If you feel anger like that… I’m not scared.” She rested her hand on her swollen belly. “She’s not scared, either. Because we know that you’ll never voluntarily hurt anybody. Because unlike with Gabe… you know love. You _are_ loved. Beyond words and reason. You touch everybody’s lives and you’re so, incredibly wonderful. This is just a snag. Besides, I’ve already have so many ideas of what might help. Therapy.” She said. Percy shook his head. _Nope_. “I’ll come with you. At least the first few times.” She continued. “Or we could try finding other outlets for a start. We haven’t been dueling lately.”

“You’re seven months pregnant.” Percy told her with a small laugh, but it came out more like a sob. Annabeth shrugged.

“You’re only saying that because you’re scared I’ll beat your ass, Jackson.” She said.

“I’m just… I’m scared I’m angry like he was.” Percy told her. His voice was barely over a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt anybody… and I nearly killed a man, Annabeth.”

“You didn’t kill him, though.” Annabeth pointed out.

“Only because you interfered!”

“You stopped. That’s what matters.” Annabeth maintained. “Remember when we got married and I vowed to stick with you? For good times and bad? This is it. This is bad. And I’m here.”

“Will I turn out like Gabe?” He asked her. His voice shook with emotion. Annabeth shook her head so confidently Percy almost believed her.

“Not a chance.” She said. “You love our family.”

She straightened up and grabbed his face with both her hands. “You’re a good man, Percy Jackson. I believe that from the bottom of my heart. I think it’s time you started, too.”

Percy didn’t know what to say. Annabeth’s eyes were piercing, challenging- as if daring him to speak back to her, tell her she was wrong. He knew that look. She came with facts, data, case studies and some back up information. He glanced at Gabe’s gravestone, lying there, dusty and completely unloved, and thought maybe he did have a chance of turning out just a little bit different. He wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist.

“Do you think Peter’s going to want me anywhere near him, you know, since I nearly killed his dad?”

“You kidding? You’re his hero!” Annabeth told him with a small smile. “Plus, I think you guys will get on famously. You’ve got so much in common.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” Percy asked. Annabeth pecked him on the lips quickly and struggled to her feet. She held out her hand and helped Percy up.

“For starters,” she said with a cheeky smile. “His name’s Peter Johnson.”


End file.
